


Socks

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 09:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Everyone knows Harry loves socks, but no one knows Draco does too.





	Socks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuArcher (Coriesocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/gifts).



Everyone knew Harry loved socks.   **  
**

He supposed it stemmed from Dobby, after Harry freed him with his one good sock without holes and the weird stains and the stretched-out band from being wrapped around Dudley’s impressively large ankles.  Dobby had knitted him, and sewed him, and purchased him socks after that, and it kind of became their _thing_  together.  

Those socks now had holes, and stains, and Harry still wore them, cherished them, washed them with the carefullest of cleaning spells, hanging them up to dry.  His friends would smile when they saw the socks on his feet, knowing better than to offer to  _repairo_  the split threads, or  _scorgify_  the faded bits.

Only Harry knew about Draco’s socks.

He discovered the Slytherin’s secret sock obsession after their third date, when they had clinked glasses one too many times, when he had fallen asleep on the couch, when Potter had tucked a blanket around him and removed his shoes so that Malfoy could sleep soundly.

Potter had bit back a laugh when he carefully untied his laces and revealed the cotton fabric that covered his delicate toes and heels and ankles.  He supposed he had been expecting black, maybe grey, or tan, surely not brightly-coloured birds and surely not puffy little clouds with cartoon grins.  

Malfoy looked cross in the morning, telling Potter with a growl that he always had to wear perfectly pressed jumpers and perfectly creased trousers and perfectly polished oxfords, but his father would let him pick out his perfectly hidden socks.  They talked over coffee and rashers and bacon, and Potter became Harry and Malfoy became Draco.

Harry cleared a drawer, and Draco filled it with shirts, and trousers, and pants, and socks.

Sometimes, when Draco was running late at work, Harry would open the drawer and admire their domesticity, admire Draco’s sock collection.  He especially loved the ones with tiny snitches, soaring through a blue-knit sky.  

And Draco would tease Harry about his messy jumpers and his raggedy hair, but he would never tease him about his old, overly loved socks.  And he would never tell a soul about the ones Draco had with little crups that barked when Harry would rub them after a long day at work.

Draco’s socks were their little secret, and Harry loved that Draco felt safe enough to let him know, to let him in.

**Author's Note:**

> For RuArcher for her birthday.


End file.
